All These Scars
by Lady Cosmic Brownie
Summary: He wasn't fast enough. Strong enough. He missed. He was shoved back. He failed. It was his fault.- A short depressing bit on how Ratchet feels after ToD. Is very depressing, and involves- yes, I'm going there- cutting. You hath been warned! On the higher end of T for the normal crap and then some. More 'hurt' than 'comfort'. You have been warned again. R&R, please.


**Mwahaha, nothing like a good angst!**

** Overall concept of the story: Set about a month or two after ToD. Ratchet's depressed. His best friend and only trusted ally is gone, probably dead. He gets angsty, and mentally beats himself for not being fast enough to snatch his friend away from the zoni. And in the end, he realizes a few things.**

** If I scar you guys for life in here, maybe I should consider changing the rating... or you're all just a bunch of wusses, and need to build some character. Whichever XD**

**-O-**

The blade slides smoothly over his skin. It cuts through the fur, and into the flesh. Blood wells around the cold metal, and he pulls it away, wiping it on his overall's leg. The red life sustaining substance slowly streams down his arm, matting the sandy fur. It drips from his ungloved fingertips, splattering on the ground.

It's warmth calms him, the pain relieves some of the agony he feels inside. He starts to wonder how long he can keep it flowing before he's discovered... or he passes out. The last time he had nearly fainted, Talwyn had found him leaning on the garage wall, eyes just starting to close.

This time, he had locked the door. Like that would do anything to stop the Markazian.

Aphelion was powered down for the night, so she couldn't say anything about his bleeding, and Clank-

He winces when the very thought stirs at the raw wound in his heart. He clutches at his pocket knife, and glances at it. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to do the other arm tonight.

He rolls up the sleeve on his left arm. It is crisscrossed with old scars, some intentional, others from fights and battles. Several scabbed over scratches were lined up on his upper arm. The first one, near his shoulder, had been accidental when he'd sliced it when he'd been working on Aphelion. It is jagged. The ones under it, however, are strait and clean.

The Lombax takes the sharp blade, and slides it over his wrist. Blood spills over instantly. His head is a little light, making him dizzy. Again, he wonders about opening a deeper one. No, these two will do for the moment.

He leans his head against the wall, too weak to hold it up. His eyes close halfway, and he sighs softly. How had he come to this? Making pathetic little scratches to make himself feel better on his arms? When had he started it? Why... was it just normal depression finally getting the best of him?

No. It was Clank. His heart lurches. That funny little robot had caused this. Maybe not, the zoni took him, but he hadn't fought back... had it been his fault? No. It had been Ratchet's for not being fast enough to catch him... or had it?

Life flairs in him again. Who's fault, who's fault, who's fault... probably the universe's. Once, he had been told that the universe has a wonderful sense of humor, but you just had to understand it.

He scoffs mentally. Oh, he understood it alright. After the joy and cheer of Tachyon's defeat, his best friend had been snatched away without a trace.

The knife is still in his weak hand, the blood from his arm making it harder to hold. He raises it a little, and carefully pulls it down the length of his right arm. Maybe it was time for him to finally let go. To let go of what, though? His depression? Anxieties? Paranoia? Clank? He has no clue, his dizzy head far too foggy to proses the thoughts.

His blood is running now, like a thick red waterfall... or, maybe a red curtain over a stage. Something clicks in his head. Red, like the silly little antennae top on Clank's head. Red like Aphelion's paint. Red, like Tachyon's blood when a shot clips his arm. Red like the dawn sun, and scarlet like the dusk sun.

It is odd, he thinks, that life begins with red, and can end with red, just like the cycle of a sun around a planet. It can start weak, and feeble, and end gloriously in a spout of color and magesty. Or it can start strong and eager, ending in a disappointing way, just a normal sunset, maybe a few clouds blocking out most of the color. Life can be violent like a young star, or it can be calm like an older one.

Either way, it ends.

The knife slides from his blood soaked hand, and clatters on the ground in a pool of red. His arm falls from his lap, landing in the cooling liquid. He is too weak to even pick it up. This was the end for him. Life wasn't worth living if there is no purpose to carry on the next day

Suddenly, the room seems so much darker. Had the lights gone out? Or is it his failing vision. Everything is flashing, stuttering. His eyes go out of focus, and his head flops onto a shoulder, ears limp. His breathing is shallow now, but that was okay. His eyes close, the muscles finally going limp from the lack of blood keeping them strong. He doesn't mind, though, he is tired anyways.

A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. This was the end. Maybe he would be relieved of the suffering he feels here. It wasn't just the loss of Clank that set the ball rolling. Tachyon had goaded it along with his stupid staff thing, and Clank had shoved it down the hill.

It doesn't matter anymore. Because the ball stops moving eventually... or it rolls over a cliff and falls into a bottomless chasm. The ball could symbolize life in a way. Fast paced, always moving. But eventually, it comes to a flat spot where it stops all together. That was fine, though, it happens sooner or later.

Ratchet frowns, a bitter thought flooding him. His death was too soon. He is still young... but, maybe it's his time...

He can hear on the edge of his thoughts, the sound of pounding. Someone was at the door. He can hear a voice, it is fuzzy, but recognizable. Talwyn has discovered him. There is a splintering sound. The door gave in. A scream.

"Ratchet!"

But, it is too late. He slips into a black void, the world he is in whisked away. He begins to remember his life. It plays quickly, slowing at important places. When he got his omniwrench. The day he met Clank... The Dreadzone... Tachyon's first assault... and his last... Clank being taken by the Zoni... the first time he'd cut himself... the time Talwyn found him... and now.

The images went away, just like his life was. There was... a light... blueish white. It looked like the portal Tachyon had summoned. He finds he can walk now, though there is no ground to speak of. He comes up to the portal, and touches it's shimmering surface. He can see through it. There is a green field... many shapes move across it, some fast, others slow. One of the shapes strides up to the portal, and looks at him. It's face is fuzzy, blurred. But, he can make out a pair of clear green eyes. They are pained.

_It wasn't your time._ They spoke. _And it still isn't. Go home. _

He falls to his knees, "I don't want to... Clank..."

_Is still out there, waiting. Just give it some time, and buck up little soldier._

The figure reaches a gloved hand through the portal.

_Be strong... _

He is being pulled backwards, and he yells. He doesn't want to go, not to the world he wants to leave behind so badly.

The portal is getting smaller, and before it disappears altogether, the voice finishes it's sentence.

_...my son._

-O-

It has been three months. Three months since he had nearly succeeded in suicide. Four months since Clank had vanished.

He tugs on his armor gloves. He is glad the armor has sleeves. They hide the scars, and make it a little bearable to live through the day.

And each day was provided with light. And that light, like all other things, was the lifeblood of life. But, eventually, that light went dark...

… but it would be a long time coming. He was like a sun, bright and hardy, hard to put out with a small bucket of water.

However, sometimes a small bucket, or poke, is all it takes.

-O-

**So, are you in a bad mood yet? Good. Please, please, please review?**


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